


Intervention

by phantisma



Series: Keeper Verse [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-02
Updated: 2007-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In "Blowback" Sam barely survived the consequences of some dark magic he used in "Captivus", because he believed he had to pay his debts.  Now the people who love him are determined to show him he doesn't owe them anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

_Excerpted from Hunter Becoming Hunted, Part 6_  
I don’t know if you knew, she plugged me with two shots, one in the leg, the other in my arm. When I woke up, when she left me, they were gone. Even the cut on my chest is almost gone.”

_Excerpted from Blowback_  
Then she hit something odd. Not odd in a wrong way. Odd in that it had a shape, a soft and squishy form in a place where everything else was loose and flowing, amorphous. She didn’t touch it and didn’t linger but noted how it felt and where it was. It was so very different from anything she had ever touched, strange. She tucked the knowledge away so that she could talk to Missouri about it later…once this was over.

Intervention

Sam sank into the couch on the sun porch and rested his head against the wall behind him. He took a long drink from his glass of iced tea and held the sweating glass up to his forehead. Ari finished her drink from her bright pink dog bowl and plopped down on the floor at his feet.

The ceiling fan was groaning that low throb that aggravated his headache but at least created air flow. Kansas in the summer was miserable, sticky, air thick enough to stick in the lungs. Even with the swamp cooler running on high and the black-out shades blocking the sun, it was damn hot.

And Sam hurt, again. Head, low throb at his temples; right shoulder, dull ache; chest, tightness; right hip, five alarm fire.

The day had started out good. No, scratch that. The day had started out terrific.

Early that morning, before sunrise, Sam had felt Dean stir, getting up to shower for work. Dean stroked his arm, ran his finger over the scars before kissing them. Then he touched his mind with a weighty dose of _Sleep Sam_. Sam had complied easily, falling back into the dark, soft embrace of sleep.

The next thing Sam knew, he felt a wet warmth around his morning hard-on and the soft mumblings of Dean’s voice. Sam opened his eyes to the vision of Dean on his knees between Sam’s spread legs, mouth wrapped around his cock. Dean’s right hand was wrapped around his own cock, lazily stroking himself to hardness. Sam whimpered.

Dean looked up at Sam, stopped suckling for an instant but kept stroking himself. He told Sam, “You laying there Sam, sheets kicked off the bed, all spread out, rock hard. Couldn’t resist baby.” Dean lowered his head back down and opened his mouth wide around Sam’s cock.

Sam moaned, long and loud when Dean’s tongue ran the length of his cock, balls to tip. Then, Dean deep throated him and Sam’s hips came up and off the bed. Sam tried to squirm into a different position, one that would let him reach Dean. Dean made little noises of discouragement without taking his mouth off Sam’s cock and used his other hand to nudge Sam back into his prone position.

Sam stared at this brother’s bobbing head and reached out mentally. They didn’t do that often, combine mental sensations with sex. The sex really didn’t need that extra added touch. But, if Dean wouldn’t let him touch him physically, he damn well would touch him in some manner.

Sam jerked as he touched the arousal running through Dean’s mind. Dean was turned on. A steamy, steady thrum of _fucksohotsohardgottacomeformebabysohot_ ran through his mind at a hot, wicked pace. Sam gasped at the impact of Dean’s mental heat and writhed on the bed. It shot through him, burning and awakening a deeper need to touch. Dean pulled off Sam’s dick to nuzzle at his balls before taking one and then the other into his mouth to suckle. Sam groaned and writhed, but still couldn’t reach Dean. _easybabyeasyloveyourtasteyoursmellfuckcouldfuckyouallday_

Sam knew Dean was getting close to his orgasm, felt the tension build in his mind, rubbed against Dean’s thoughts, bringing friction to the mix. Dean moved his head and swallowed Sam back down, sucking hard. The sucking sound did it; Sam opened his mind to let Dean mentally feel the impact of his orgasm while he physically spurted down Dean’s throat.

Dean swallowed him down, pulled his mouth off Sam’s dick, scooted up, came, spilling over Sam’s groin while releasing his own satisfied moan of pleasure. In response to Dean’s intense orgasm and pleasure, Sam’s dick twitched and dispensed a few last drops of come.

“Fuck Sammy – swallowing you down is sensation enough. The mental orgasm could kill me,” Dean’s face was glazed, completely satiated, clearly smitten. “God, you are so fucking sexy.”

Sam had looked at his brother’s face and for the millionth time felt the firmly held belief of – I don’t deserve you. It probably showed on his face because Dean reacted instantly. He crawled up Sam’s length and buried his tongue into Sam’s mouth, effectively blocking out any self-worth ruminations. Sam wrapped an arm around his brother, feeling Dean’s come spread between their groins and tasting his own come on Dean’s mouth. Both of their dicks hardened slightly. Dean pulled his lips off and said, “Interested already?”

“Stay home, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll show you how interested I am. I’ll prop you up on all fours and fuck you senseless,” Sam lifted an eyebrow in invitation.

Dean shook his head. “I love that offer but I have to meet Winslow in 45 minutes, bidding on a couple of classic car restorations. Rain check?”

“Yeah, rain check. Make sure you wipe that 'I Just Got Laid' look off your face before you see Winslow. I don’t think he’s gotten any in years,” Sam said as he swatted Dean’s ass.

Sam smiled at the memory. It was a great orgasm, nothing beat first thing in the morning sex. Well, except maybe, waking up at midnight sex or shower sex or kitchen floor sex or back seat of the Impala sex or day long sex – Sam’s evaluation of which sex was his favorite was interrupted when he heard the front door slam.

Sam took a long swallow of his iced tea and waited for her. In about three seconds, Dana walked into the room, dressed in shorts, a tank top, flip flops showing her bright pink toenails with her hair pinned up on her head. She was flushed from the heat with a giant grin on her face that froze as she crossed the threshold into the sun porch.

“It’s freezing in this room Sam.” Dana turned to face him. “Oh, sorry, you’re hot. Has it been bad all day?” Her smile was replaced with instant fretful face.

Frankly, Sam was pretty tired of everyone fretting over him. It was true that his body still wasn’t regulating heat well. But it was much improved. Today, he had been fine until an hour before when his hip kicked in and then his body temperature shot through the roof.

Wordlessly, Dana turned and left the room. Sam heard her in the kitchen, refrigerator door slamming, drawer slamming, cabinet slamming. Simply incapable of shutting anything gently. It made Sam smile.

Dana returned with a tray which she set on the table before plopping herself on the floor next to Ari. Ari lifted her head to rest it in Dana’s lap.

Dana passed Sam a fresh glass of iced tea and two bags of ice.

“For your hip and your head,” Dana said. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Stop fussing Dana. Stop.” Sam's voice was firm as he placed the second ice pack behind his neck. He shifted on the couch, trying to find something that resembled comfortable.

Dana took a big drink from her lemonade and then starting munching on her cheese and crackers, sharing some cheese with the dog.

“Tell me about your day.” Sam said, turning the attention back to Dana.

The big grin returned in response to that request. Dana replied with a sparkle in her eye, “You know, I started running in the morning with the cross country team a couple of weeks ago. My friend Erin invited me to join them.”

Sam nodded, enjoying the freezing cold ice on his hip and neck.

“Coach told me this morning that she’d like me to join the team.” Dana was practically reverberating.

“So, what did you say?”

“I said I’d be thrilled.” Dana crunched on a cracker in triumph, crumbs flying everywhere as her eyebrows wiggled.

Sam put down his glass. Something didn’t add up. “Dana, I’ve been trying to get you to join the cross country team since you were a freshman. What’s changed?”

“Nuthin’,” Dana replied dismissively.

_Yeah, I bet._ Sam catalogued this for further research. Something or someone had changed Dana’s tune and he would damn well figure out what or who. But, that could wait for later.

“Did you do your practice SAT and research those colleges?” Sam asked pointedly.

“Yes and No,” Dana answered obliquely. She started playing with her hair and petting Ari.

“Which is it? Yes or No?” Sam wasn’t going to let the subject go.

Dana sighed dramatically. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am NOT going away to college? Huh?”

“And how many times do I have to tell YOU that you damn well ARE?” Sam had been thoroughly and completely indulgent with Dana on virtually everything her entire life. But, he was adamant on this. He hated arguing with her but he had no intention of backing down or losing. She was going to college.

Raising his voice made his head throb so he lowered it back against the wall and continued quietly yet forcefully, “Honey, you are not our caretaker. You have a life and we both damn well want you to lead it. College will be wonderful for you – a real chance at normalcy.”

The back door to the porch opened and John entered carrying a bunch of take-out bags. The smell of Chinese food wafted through the room.

“I heard yelling. Let me guess – you’re arguing about college.” John shook his head.

Dana giggled. “Papa for the win! Please tell your son that I’m a hunter and I ain’t goin’.” Dana had a look of victory on her face, assuming she had an ally.

“You are indeed a hunter my dear but you are most definitely going to college,” John pronounced, a small smile on his face.

“Et tu, Brute?” Dana intoned, disappointment dripping from her voice. “Why don’t any of you understand? Why why why?” Dana flailed her arms around.

John didn’t buy it. “Dana, quit the theatrics and help an old man with these bags.”

Dana jumped up to obey, grabbed the bags and headed out of the room.

John gazed at Sam. “Since it feels like January in here and you still have ice sitting on your body, I’m assuming you’re feeling crappy.”

Sam smiled, at least Dad didn’t coddle, just called it like he saw it. “I’m ok, really. The ice helps.”

John’s eyes narrowed at him. It was fairly clear he wasn’t buying Sam's deflection anymore than Dana's. Sam shook his head then added, “I must have forgotten that we were getting together tonight. My memory is still kind of jumbled.”

“Naw, you didn’t forget. Just seemed like a good idea,” John brushed it off but something in his tone gave Sam the sense that something was up. “I think I hear the Impala.” John tilted his head, as if to hear better.

John was right. He did hear the Impala. Sam opened his mind. _We’re in the sun room._

And in a few moments Dean walked through the door and winced but didn’t say anything. He tossed his keys on the table and walked across the room, sat down next to Sam. He reached over and pulled Sam to him, into his body so that Sam was leaning on his good side with his head resting on Dean’s shoulder.

Before the after-effects of the spell, Sam and Dean had never displayed affection in front of their father, rarely even sat next to each other. Although never really discussed, it seemed respectful not to make John unduly uncomfortable. But, after that episode, Dean had started sitting next to Sam at every opportunity, often touching. Sam knew Dean was still freaked about the whole thing so he didn’t object. And, Dean’s touch felt so great, always took the edge off of the agony and Sam knew he needed all the help he could get.

John looked at the two of them. Sam was amazed at the level of understanding reflected in his eyes. “Beer guys?” John asked.

Dean nodded and looked at Sam. Sam gently shook his head No. Dean grabbed the half melted ice packs off Sam and tossed them to his father. “Refill those, would ya?”

John nodded and exited the room.

“Did you eat anything today?” Dean asked, not entirely managing to sound as casual as Sam could tell he was trying to be.

“Please don’t you start,” Sam said, yawning as a wave of exhaustion start to pull at him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off toward sleep. He felt better, propped against Dean, breathing him in. He could feel himself cooling down too.

Dean snorted, “I’m taking that as a No. Don’t you fall asleep on me – you’re gonna eat.”

“Dana made the cross country team,” Sam muttered blearily. “You feel good baby.”

“No changing subjects,” Dean said, rubbing his shoulder. “How did you finally get her to cave in and join?”

“Didn’t. Did it for reasons of her own. Will figure it out soon,” Sam’s words were barely audible and then he added a bit more succinctly. “Tomorrow – I’m gonna figure it out tomorrow.”

He could hear them returning, Dana and John, smell the food they were bringing. His stomach twisted and he mentally turned away from them. 

“Come on Sam. Sit up – we’re gonna eat.”

“Naw. Not hungry.”

Sam felt the impact of Dean’s barely concealed frustration wash over him. Sam braced for the cajoling; they’d been dancing around the eating topic for weeks. Dean started to voice something and Sam felt him swallow the words.

Even though he was moments from sleep, he could sense them looking at one another. Something was definitely up and whatever it was, they were all in on it.

Sam half-opened his eyes as Dean replaced the ice packs on his hip and neck. He glimpsed Dana out of the corner of his eye. Gone was the cocky, happy teenager from earlier. She was sitting balled up in the chair, slightly scared look on her face, biting her nails. She hadn’t chewed her nails since she was eight.

Not only was something up – it wasn’t a good something.

It was John’s commanding voice that broke the silence. “Sam,” he boomed, “Wake up son. We need to talk with you.”

Dean nudged Sam to prop him up to a sitting position, adjusted the ice packs and then brushed the hair out of his eyes. Dean was really tense, on high alert plus a bit worried with a vague sense of sympathy tossed into the mix. Dana had shut herself off completely, just an anxious ball in the corner chewing on her nails.

Sam turned his eyes to look straight at his father. There wasn't as much emotion there, but there was a vague sense of panic rising in Sam’s stomach. He was certainly more awake now. “This is about the spell, right? You know I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t know it would be that bad after. It’s never been that bad before. I’m sorry that I scared all of you so much.”

If he accepted complete responsibility, maybe that would cut-off the group lecture before it started.

John shook his head. “It’s not about the use of the spell. We all understand and accept what you did. That isn’t the problem.”

“What then?” Sam asked, puzzled, wiping his eyes.

“The after-effect Sam. The blowback. You didn’t have to suffer the way you did. Yet, you chose to, demanded it even. You actually wanted to leave the house. All or at least quite a bit of it was unnecessary.” John said it slowly and clearly, carefully. Sam had the feeling his father had been going over and over it in his head for days.

Sam scanned the room, looking at each of them. “I…..I….screwed up. You’re right. I’m sorry, really truly sorry. Should never have....” Sam wanted this conversation to be over in the worst way. It wasn’t going to go anywhere good. He felt cornered, trapped. 

However, his father wasn’t letting him off with an apology. “You apologize, but you don’t even realize it’s for the wrong reasons. Son – your reaction, wanting to run off and suffer the consequences. Alone. That’s just a symptom of the problem.” John paused, staring Sam straight in the eyes. “You have to forgive yourself. You’ve paid your debt, many times over. You don’t owe any of us anything and you don’t owe the universe anything either. Enough Sam. You have to stop punishing yourself.”

Despair clawed at his chest, something close to panic rising inside him. He really didn’t want to get into this. His father very clearly did not understand what he was asking was impossible, didn't understand that he was wrong. “No Dad. No. You don’t know. You just don’t KNOW.” Sam realized his voice was shaking. He stopped to calm himself. Deep breaths. Gathered himself. Logic and distraction. They didn’t really want to know. Couldn’t. No matter what any of them said, they would never want him to stay if they knew.

_I know._ Dana's voice cut through his self-recrimination. Sam shook his head, denied her, pushed her away. He didn’t look at her, closed his eyes and tried to figure out how to steer them away from the whole topic of him...of his past, and the forgiveness he could never earn. "I mean, yeah, you kinda know what went down between me and Dean. And that was bad. Awful.” Sam hated that memory, hated who he'd been then. But still, it was nothing compared to the things that came before. He felt a tinge of sympathy from Dean and that just made it worse because sympathy was the last thing he deserved, especially now. He hung his head, a wave of pain and humiliation washing through him. “I’ve done so much fucking worse.” He whispered the words, and even though he kept the actual memories shoved behind walls, locked in vaults, he felt the anguish just the same. Sam lowered his eyes, he couldn't face his father. John could never know that...whatever John did know or thought he knew, it wasn't even a fraction of it. Sam knew that for a fact.

_I know and I love you._

“No.” Sam said it out loud and felt her recoil. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just couldn’t…deal with how much she did know.

“Sam, we all know that you did some really bad things. Every one of us knows.” John said, and the caring and understanding in his voice only made Sam want to run.

He wanted out of that room desperately. Wanted them to leave him alone. Wanted to curl up in bed and sleep. And then his body temperature dropped drastically, as if he had just stepped out of the desert and into a meat freezer. He commenced shivering violently. The ice packs fell and Sam hugged himself.

John leaned over and adjusted the setting on the swamp cooler. Dean reached to the side of the couch, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Sam’s shoulders. Sam shrugged it off and tried to stand up, intending to leave the room.

Dean put a hand on his chest and made a negative sounding noise in his throat. “You aren’t going anywhere. You will listen to this.” Dean’s voice was rising.

“Dean.” John said in a cautionary tone. Dean sat back.

“When’s the last time you ate an actual meal?” John asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, silent. He honestly wasn't sure he could answer the question.

John’s tone changed. “You will look at me and answer my questions.” The Marine voice was firm, demanding, allowing for no escape or subterfuge.

Sam’s head snapped up. “Please don’t do this Dad. Please.” He could feel it coming now. Knew it was more than just a little concern for his lack of appetite and his pain. The little bit of panic was growing.

John was leaning forward in his chair, directing all his attention and energy at Sam. Dana remained a tiny ball in the corner, her eyes huge.

“Why would you let yourself die instead of asking us for the help you needed?” John asked, though his voice had softened a little. Sam didn’t respond, just sat there looking at his father and shivering. Dean reaction was more pronounced, the barely masked anger was leaking out and Sam almost pulled away from him.

“Explain yourself.” John wasn’t going to be stared down or dissuaded. He plainly expected a reply. Sam’s eyes focused on the floor between his father’s feet. He didn’t want this, but he wasn’t seeing anyway around it.

Sam tried for the simplest answer he could, not looking up. “I had to pay the price – no debts. I made the choice, I did the deed. My decision. Need to pay my debts, I already owe so much...can't...” Sam stood up, dropping the blanket on the couch. He closed his eyes. It was more than he meant to say.

Sam felt Dean’s anger bubble up next to him and then out and across the room. Dana gasped at its impact when it touched her. “You what?” Fury. Sam recoiled almost physically.

Dean stood, put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and spun him around roughly so that they were facing. “You don’t owe me or anyone in this room a goddamned thing. Do you hear me?”

Sam’s jaw dropped. Dean had never yelled at him and that look of rage on his face had never been directed at him. Not once in seventeen years. He felt like a child as a sob erupted from his chest followed by tears streaming down his face. The shivering worsened. No. He couldn’t do this. They didn’t understand. He had worked hard to make sure they never would. He'd kept it hidden so that they would never have to know.

Dean’s voice was loud, angry. One hand gripped Sam’s shirt, pulling Sam toward him. “I get that physically your body is beat up and hurts like hell. But the emotional anguish you put yourself through is Grade A Bullshit, Sam. It has to stop.”

Sam swallowed and tried to look at him. Dean’s face was red. He spared a glance at Dana, but she hadn’t moved, other than to curl up even tighter, as if pulling her feet out of range of the anger Dean was spilling like liquid into puddles on the floor.

“We are not leaving this room until you agree with some plan to get you better…emotionally healthier. And this not eating crap ends today.” He let go of Sam’s shirt causing Sam to fall back a step. “You’re going to kill yourself with this shit, Sam. And I don’t care what you think you’ve done or what you think you owe. I’m not letting you die for some misguided, bullshit guilt complex.”

Another sob escaped from Sam’s chest but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Dean’s face. He felt slapped, betrayed, and the blow shook him, knocked doors inside him open. Dean always stood by him, accepted him, accepted who he was...and Sam had always counted on that. Sam fought to regain his composure, suck it up. Dean started to open his mouth to say something else but was cut-off by John with a curt, “Enough Dean. Look at his face. Enough.”

Dean blinked, the rage subsiding in a second. Sam saw and felt instant remorse, horror from Dean. Dean reached out to Sam but Sam recoiled. Couldn’t take the idea of being touched, it just hurt too much. The shivering worsened, Sam pulled his arms around his chest trying to create some warmth.

And then Dana, who had barely breathed until this moment, spoke softly from across the room. “I don’t think,” she stopped. They all turned toward her voice. “I don’t think you are being tough enough on him Dad. I don’t think we should let him off the hook for the physical suffering either.” She was nervous but there was defiance in her posture now, a kind of subtle anger. “There’s something……” Her voice trailed off. She was unsure.

John spoke first. “What are you talking about Dana?”

She replied, “A hunch, sorta a hunch.”

Sam and Dana locked eyes. His tears and stopped, but he was still shivering. He tried to touch her mind to understand but she blocked him. Something in her tone was even more terrifying than Dean’s yelling.

John broke the awkwardness. “Let’s take five minutes.” He stood up, stretched his back. “I’m going to the bathroom and getting another beer. Dana – you put this food in the fridge.” John went to leave the room, turned back and added, “Dean – apologize to Sam.”

As soon as it was just them, Dean reached for Sam. “Fuck – I’m sorry. I should never have yelled, especially at you, and god, I shoved you. Please look at me.”

Sam didn’t turn, just replied, “No, you’re right. I deserve it.”

Dean froze. “That is exactly the problem. Right there. You actually fucking think you deserve to be treated like crap.” Dean was upset but managing to keep his calm now. “See baby. You do it all the time. If I had a dollar for every time you’ve told me in some way that you don’t deserve me we’d be living in a mansion.”

Sam muttered through chattering teeth, “That isn’t true. I don’t do that.”

Dean guffawed, “The hell you don’t. You did it just twelve hours ago. We have mutual, mind blowing orgasms and your immediate reaction is to think at me that you aren’t worthy of me. I had to smother you in a kiss to stop the words. It hurts to hear it Sam.” Dean paused, rubbing a hand over Sam’s back. “And don’t you dare deny it – it’s true.”

Sam hung his head in defeat. He hurt…but for the first time in a while, the worst of the pain wasn’t in his body. Dean reached for him and bodily pulled him into an embrace. Dean whispered, “We’re doing this because we love you, Sam. You get that right?”

“Dean…I—I know you love me. I know. I just—I don’t know…” He closed his eyes and leaned into Dean’s body.

“Dana’s terrified that the pain will drive you away, make you go to the ‘dark side’ for relief. Did you know that?” Sam stiffened as Dean let that sink in. “We need to fix this Sammy, now.”

Dean wrapped himself around Sam and walked them back to the couch, lowered them down, re-wrapped Sam in the blanket. Dean pulled Sam to him and rubbed his arms, touching Sam with an image of the two of them sweating in a sauna. Sam’s closed his eyes and welcomed the image. His body temperature jumped up, the shivering lessened.

John and Dana returned to the room. John passed Dean a fresh bottle of beer. Dean brought it to his lips and downed half of it as John lowered himself into his chair, and demanded, “Explain yourself Ms. Dana.”

Dana didn’t sit down. She crossed her arms, faced Sam and let it fly. “During the second bout of seizures, I was pretty deep…blocking them so, ya know, no more damage.”

Sam nodded.

“I found something in your head, a formed something.”

Sam shook his head, dismissed the idea. “Dana – there’s no formed …” he struggled for a word, gave up, “…no forms…just amorphous wavelengths, you know that.”

“Ha. Let me in and I’ll show you where,” Dana responded. Some of her fear had worn off, she was standing straighter, more poised. He knew she didn’t like to be told she was wrong, although in this case, he knew she was. Had to be. He knew his own head. Spent a lot of time in there, especially lately, trying to restore something like order.

Dana stuck out her hand, challenging him to follow her lead. He hesitated, didn’t want to do this, desperately tried to conjure up a reasonable excuse to back off, to ignore the challenge. The urge to flee was overwhelming; he pushed it away and, as calmly as he could, reached for her hand.

The connection between them sizzled, he felt her anxiousness flow through him and she undoubtedly felt his reluctance.

_I’ll show you. Just relax. Ok? Just relax._

Together they fell into a chasm, he throbbed with the desire to head off in the other direction…he knew what was down there, in that dark, forbidden part of him…nothing good…darkness and memories best left in the dark. He knew…and he knew she did too….they had been here before…he pulled back, wanted out, but Dana was insistent and fought against his resistance.

Suddenly, they bounced to a stop. Dana was psychically pointing at something.

It was silvery white and blob-like…not solid…but definitely not normal…not like anything else in his head. Sam tilted his head and said, out loud, “Goddamn, what is that Dana?”

Dana eased them up and out. She dropped his hand. “You tell me champ, it’s in your head.” She was standing there, hands on her hips now. A mixture of fear of the unknown and joy at being right played across her face.

They were quiet for several moments. Until Dana elaborated, “Oh, I researched it. Asked Missouri right away. Told me I musta been wore out because what I explained didn’t exist.” She licked her lips.

“So, I hit the books, ALL the books.” She was warming up, happy to tell the story, fear ebbing. Sam wished he could say the same, somehow the very existence of that thing terrified him. “Even your books Sam. I looked everywhere—“

Dean cut her off, “Cut the crap Dana and tell us what the hell is going on.”

“I don’t KNOW what is going on. All I found is a reference in a three hundred year old text, very vague, to a mental formed shape. In Latin. Not much help. But it at least reassured me that I wasn’t just tired and dreaming it up.”

Dean wasn’t pleased. His anger was climbing again, Sam could feel it, but this time Dana was the recipient. “You’ve kept silent on this for two months?” he bellowed.

“Was thinking about it, pondering the odds, trying to do the right thing.” Dana squirmed under her father’s glare.

John spoke up, “I know you have a theory honey. What’s your theory?”

Dana glanced at her grandfather gratefully and then turned to face Sam. “Let’s just go back in and touch it and find out.”

Dean exploded. “Dana. Have you lost your mind? It could be anything! It could be some type of fail safe left by the demon.”

“Don’t think so Dad.”

“You don’t THINK so?” Dean seethed. “You’d risk your uncle’s life because you don’t THINK so?”

It rushed out in a breath, “I think it’s a power. Sam’s power. Pretty sure, really pretty sure – only thing that adds up.” She was twisting her hair again. Then looked at Sam accusingly, “And if I’m right, it really makes you a martyr.”

John pushed, “Stop the crap Dana and be more specific.”

“No,” she answered defiantly. She shifted her feet. Sam could feel defiance and excitement and uncertainty in her glance, then she stopped fidgeting and held out her hand again. “Let’s just go and find out right now Sam. If you do this, I’ll go to college.”

That got his attention. He knew he shouldn't, but he grabbed the bait, stood and replied, equally defiantly. “If that’s a promise.”

“No Way,” Dean shouted, lunging across the room to stop their hands from touching, but he was too late. Sam and Dana’s hands touched and they plunged right back into the chasm.

Dana erected a precautionary shock absorber as they arrived at the spot.

_So, you aren’t as sure as all that, huh?”_

_I’m pretty damn sure but not risking our lives. You taught me better than that Sammy. I love you. Touch the fucking thing._ She nudged him.

Sam indistinctly heard Dean pleading with him to break the link and not do this and John somewhere trying to intercede as well. He ignored it.

Sam, with the mental equivalent of a tip of his finger touching a bubble, made contact with the soft, squishy form.

His body temperature corrected instantly.

Dana was grinning in triumph. _I knew it. I just knew it._ she mentally crowed.

He touched again, breaking its surface for a millisecond. His head and hip stopped hurting, completely, for the first time since the demon’s glamour had been removed.

Dana pulled them away and up and out. She released his hand and announced to the room, “I am so pissed at you there are no words.”

Sam staggered back a few steps, stunned when his right side didn’t give out on him and send him hurtling to the floor. Humbly, Sam asked, “How did you know?”

Before she could answer, John stepped in to take control of the situation, his hand on Dana’s shoulder, pushing her toward the chair. “Dana, sit your butt down in that chair. Sam – you are old enough not to accept a challenge from a child. That stunt could have killed you. Don’t you get we are here to stop you from trying to kill yourself?”

“You aren’t shivering.” Dean interuppted. Sam turned to look at him, knowing his face was stunned and uncertain. “And you’re standing balanced on both feet, not favoring your right hip.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. No pain. None.”

“The gunshot wounds,” Dana pronounced. As if that explained everything. As one, the three Winchester men turned to her. “I have tried for four years to heal things after Sam’s gunshot wounds were healed. Furious at myself the whole time that I couldn’t resurrect that power. Of course, I couldn’t – not my damn power. I must’ve kicked that thing by accident when I was in your mind.”

Sam crossed the room, opened the door and inhaled a lungful of thick Kansas August humidity. He turned to face the room, still leaning on the open door. Leaning on his right shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, dazed, trying to balance things…trying to make sense. That chasm was filled with bad things…why should something like this hide there…why had he…how had he done it?

John demanded, “If one of you doesn’t explain soon, I’m going to shoot one of you.”

“Shoot him – he can heal himself,” Dana tossed her head sassily.

This time it was the Marine voice. “Dana Elizabeth, stop with the smart ass and start with the whole story. That’s an order.”

“The text I found about formed waves or formed thoughts or formed whatever said in Latin, “gifted blessing” or some such. Vague, at best.” Dana waved her hand at Sam. “But, it mentioned formed, definitely the formed. Well, I have more and stronger powers than Sam and I searched everywhere in myself for the equivalent. Nada.”

Dana glanced around the room at her audience.

“I thought about two things endlessly. The gunshots that were healed and how the demon’s glamour worked.” She stood to pace while she talked. “If it had only been the gunshot healing, I would have been more unsure. That could have been a freak adrenaline thing on my part – possible – and would explain why I couldn’t recreate it.” She added, rubbing it in deeper, “Even though I tried for four years.”

“Dana….,” warningly from John.

“The demon’s glamour never made any sense to me. Or to Missouri either, actually. Demon power is to hurt, destroy. How did that help Sam block the pain? Never made a lick of sense. I’ve been looking for anything to help Sam for two years but no white magic could achieve it, only the dark. So, how? Made sense to me only if the damn glamour was tapping Sam’s own ‘gifted blessing’. That way, no side effects.”

Dean spoke up, “What happened when you touched it Sam?”

Sam felt the tears behind his eyes, shut his eyes fast to block them from falling. “Instant relief.” His voice wavered, reflected his overall dazed state.

Dana crossed the room, her eyes softening. She said gently to Sam, “You’ve blocked it out this whole time. Buried it there…with all that junk…Even today, you didn’t want to go there, fought it…because of the ugly stuff you hide away down there…and it’s all that shit that made you hide it. Because you don’t feel worthy of it. Do ya get that?” Her touch on his face was gentle.

_You are blessed …it wouldn’t be there at all if you weren’t._

The truth of Dana’s words hit Sam like a punch in the gut. The tears spilled down his face. Dean crossed the room and engulfed him in his arms, pulled him close, whispered, “I love you” in his ear.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning into Dean, thinking about that chasm…that…thing…inside him. How was anyone worthy of something like that?

_Don’t you even start._ Dean kissed his cheek, his hands rising up to cup Sam’s face. _Enough for now, okay._

Sam nodded into Dean’s shoulder and Dean said, “Dana, go get changed. We’re going out to eat. Steak house. Go.”

That left the three Winchester men in the room. Dean walked Sam back to the couch and sat him down.

John spoke first, “Look Sam – we didn’t expect that. Leave it to Dana to keep that kind of thing to herself. We were just trying to get you to a place where you would admit that you have some destructive behaviors and that we would work on it.”

Dean interjected, “What you found tonight doesn’t change that. Dad and I want you to promise that you will talk to me about your life before us, something each day. Until you’ve put it all on the table. So we can get past it, once and for all.”

Sam tried to focus but was overwhelmed, everything felt shaky. He wanted to argue and say No. Instead, he said the first thing that popped into his mind, “You hate to talk Dean.”

Dean smiled. “I hate to talk, yeah, but you’re the one who’ll be doing the talking. I only have to listen. I’m a great listener.” Dean flashed that ‘I’m adorable’’ smirk.

Sam finally looked up at him, met his eyes. He was trembling, but for completely different reasons now. He wasn’t healed…He was starting to be able to feel…he’d handled the symptoms…eased the pain…there was so much more…Dean’s concern colored his eyes, deepened the green and Sam sighed. “I’ll try. Is that…good enough?” 

Dean held their hands together so that their rings touched. “That’s a pledge Sam. I’m holding you to it. We try.”

* * *

Sam closed his menu and told the waiter, “Just...a baked potato, just plain.”

Dean took Sam’s menu, handed it to the waiter and said, “He’ll have the 8 ounce rib eye with that and sour cream on his potato. I’ll have the 12 ounce New York. Bring a pitcher of beer and three mugs.”

Dean gave Sam a look that brokered no argument. Sam tried to smile, and didn’t entirely fail. Everything inside him was jumbled up again, though in a completely different way than after the seizures. He circled around the blob inside him with a certain amount of apprehension. 

John spoke up, clearly trying to broach a safe and light subject, addressed Dana. “So, I hear you made the cross country team.”

Sam sat back as the three of them as they discussed Dana’s burgeoning track career and school. He could barely construct a rational thought much less a sentence, his head was full of questions, ideas, plans, memories but they were all mixed up and disconnected, like he needed a big sorting machine to put everything into its proper place. Yet, there was a thrumming too, a feeling of joy running through all the chaos created in the last few hours.

And he didn’t hurt. He was sitting in a wood booth and he wasn’t in agony. He felt Dean move his hand and set it on his knee. Just a tad of reassurance.

The beer came and Sam actually felt a pulse of desire to drink some. And it tasted great. He found that he was starting to be able to focus on some of Dana’s words. Stuff like ‘1500 meters’ and ‘trail training’ and ‘fastest mile coach has ever seen’ were filtering in.

The food came and they ate. Sam managed three quarters of his meal and could feel Dean’s pleasure surround him.

As dessert arrived, Sam realized that he hadn’t called in Dana’s debt. He put the words together in his head first, ran through them to make sure they made sense and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow we’re going to look at those college brochures I brought home and pick which ones you will apply to. Harvard has—“

She turned to him and kissed his cheek. “Sam, I promised to go TO college. I didn’t promise that I’d go AWAY to college.”

“Dana!” Sam turned to her, but John was laughing, having been the one caught in Dana’s deceiving technicalities before. Dean chuckled too, then leaned over Sam to catch Dana’s chin.

“We’ll do it together, and you’ll have to convince me of reasons not to go to the finest schools that will have a trouble making, uncle-deceiving monster like you.”

Dana humphed and crossed her arms. Sam leaned into Dean, tired, but feeling better than he had in a long time. He let himself consider how much better…and what that might mean…and he felt Dean respond, his hand massaging up over Sam’s thigh.

Dana laughed, “Um, Dad, cool it – I caught a bit of that.” Dean laughed and pulled his hand away, but the thoughts he tossed at Sam were down right wicked.

* * *

Epilogue

Dean shut the door to their room and leaned against it.

“Talk to me Sammy.”

Sam sank down onto the bed, curling on his right side, staring across the room at Dean. Sam fumbled for words to try to explain how emotionally overwhelmed he was.

Words and sentences still weren’t exactly friendly. Instead of words he reached for Dean mentally, showed him as best he could. After a few minutes, Dean walked across the room and curled up next to Sam.

“I didn’t want it to be quite that much of a scene. I was hoping for a nice, calm chat, you know, deal with some stuff…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he stroked Sam’s back.

“Oreos,” Sam said abruptly.

“Huh?”

“And milk,” Sam managed to get out. Dean sat up and looked at him.

_You want me to eat and now I’m hungry and you’re staring at me like I’m nuts._

“Well, all right then,” Dean got off the bed, left the room, heading downstairs. Sam could hear him whistling as he went.

Sam was wired, adrenaline flowing. He was struck by an image of rock climbing and was fairly certain that it wasn’t a memory coming into focus. No - he had never climbed a rock. Instead, it was some crazy desire to go rock climbing, climb high things, steep things, sheer things, see the view from the top. Dean wouldn’t be happy with that idea… unless maybe he promised sex on the summit.

Dean walked into the room with two glasses of milk and the bag of Oreos, shutting the door behind him.

“Ok buddy, cookies and milk it is. Would you like me to read _Goodnight Moon_ while I’m at it?” Dean teased, practically vibrating with pleasure.

_Yes smart ass, I would like that very much._

Sam grinned, propped himself up on the head board, grabbed three Oreos and popped them into his mouth, chasing it down with a long swallow of milk. Then held one out to Dean who dutifully opened his mouth to receive his treat. Sam held it out but swiped it away at the last second to chew it down.

“Tease.”

_Yes, I’m a cookie tease. But not a cock tease. That image you sent me at the restaurant, me on all fours. Would love to NOT tease you about that._

“Now that I can work with Sammy my boy…that I can work with.”


End file.
